Old Legends Die Hard
by Aquaticmammals
Summary: One day you're the goddamn hero of the wasteland, everyone celebrating you, cheering your name. The next, a forgotten relic of a hero. All they see is what you are now, not what you once were. Being blown to the sidelines, no one remembering who you once were, that is until a certain Courier wanders in, with a bounty set on your head.


**AN: I know I'm a bit late, as Fallout 2 released a week ago twenty years ago, but here it is. My homage to my favorite game in the Fallout franchise, going against its successor. Enjoy and review.**

* * *

"Twenty thousand caps, final offer." Words rung out through the small, cigarette smoke filled shack. The recipient of the offer silent, the mask he wore showing no expression to the deal. To what the elderly man didn't know, was he was smiling, but he wouldn't let him know that, Courier Six doesn't show emotions.

"Twenty thousand caps, and all I gotta do is kill a sixty year old man? You sir have yourself a deal." Extending a gloved hand for the old man to shake, which he grabbed quickly. "I want half now though, I'll take the other half once the man's dead."

"Yes, I suppose I should." The old man walks over to a the corner of the shed, grabbing a tool box from the floor. "I have them right in here, half of my entire life savings." Handing over the rusted metal box to the Courier, to which he took and opened. Nodding slowly and then closing the box, which he held tucked under his arm.

Standing up slowly and walking to the shack door the Courier stops, not glancing over this shoulder. "If I'm going to kill him, could you at least tell me why?" The man paused for a moment, as if to take a second to consider what to say.

"Because I was unfortunate to be away when he came into my town, killed all of my friends and family."

"Guess I'll be doing the wasteland a service, show this guy that his past means something. I'll be back when the job is done." Opening the door and closing it as he walked out, leaving the old man in the shack alone. He opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph. It was a photo of him, and others in advanced power armor. To any other wastelander the most startling part of the photo would be how it seemed to have been taken in the middle of the sea.

"Soon, soon you will be avenged."

* * *

"Sir, we have told you before you're not allowed to gamble here." The cashier at the Atomic Wrangler tells the man. "You can get a drink from the bar over there if you want."

"You can't do this to me, I'm a goddamn hero!" The cashier looked as if she was about to yell for one of the guards to haul him out, and he didn't want to be banned from the place as well. "Fine, if this is how you treat all your heros it's wonder how you're still in business." walking over to the bar dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans, obviously well worn.

"What'll it be Mr. Hero." James Garret asks the man, a smirk on his face from his remark.

"A bottle of whiskey and a salisbury steak." James goes over to fetch the items, but doesn't give them to him yet.

"Twenty-five caps." Grabbing his caps and tossing them up, Garret smiles and places down his request.

"Enjoy." He intended on it. Cutting into the steak with a knife and taking a hearty chunk into his mouth, savoring its old flavorless taste. Looking over the bottle over whiskey, and then popping it open, and taking a good swig.

"This drink goes to you John." Drinking a bottle of whiskey in memory of his friend, John Cassidy. He truly was a dear friend, to bad he died a while back. They got along and drank down a bottle of whiskey each the last time they met. Then again last he saw John he was alive still.

The door to the Wrangler opened, and in came none other than the famous Courier Six. A goddamned legend, just can't wait until he gets forgotten and thrown away. Plus, the Courier is nothing compared to what he was back in the day, bet he never had to deal with Frank Horrigan. The Courier looked around the room, before seeing the bar and walking over, taking a seat right next to him.

"You Hexem?" The Courier asks him, apparently he's looking for him. It's about time someone tries to look for him. Cutting out another chunk of his steak and putting it into his mouth, swallowing before responding.

"The one and only, knew it was about time before you came to meet the legend." Feeling something press into his side, and hearing the cock of the hammer on a revolver. This immediately darkened the mood.

"Let's take this outside, don't want to bloody this fine establishment and if you do, I promise to make your death quick and painless." The man identified as Hexem takes a deep breath and reacts. With a seemingly superhuman reaction speed, one not expected in an old man, he drove the steak knife he was using into the Courier's side, while also kicking off of the bar and hitting the floor with his back. The Courier firing, but the bullet hitting the far wall, due to Hexem being out of the way. Before the Courier could react to the Hexems new position he had already gotten out of the door. Standing up and pulling the knife out of him, the Courier runs to the door in pursuit. Stabbing a stimpack into the area surrounding the stab, the wound closes almost immediately. Seeing Hexem out in the distance making a left to head towards the outskirts of Freeside, the Courier picks up the pace. "I'm getting to old for this, I just let an old man outrun me."

* * *

The Courier was hot on his tail, he had to get back to his flat quickly, he has some weapons there. Making a right before hitting the Old Mormon Fort, and then running into the apartment building to his right. "Hey, asshole, where's my rent?" Hexem pushed his landlord out of the way and ran to his apartment. His was on the top floor, last door on the left.

The landlord looked angry, that was until the Courier walked in. "Where did he go?" The landlord smiling, seeing an opportunity to get everything that old man had once he died. It was people like him who make the wasteland so inhospitable.

"His room is on the top floor all the way to the left, just try to keep the room intact." The Courier nodded and proceeded to run up the stairs, heading to go claim his bounty. Adrenaline pumping through his body, this old man won't escape him again, he was going to die right here. Determined to end it now, pulling out his shotgun, dinnerbell, and loading it with 4/0 buck magnum, making sure he wouldn't need more than one shot to kill. Once he arrived at the door to the old man's apartment, he mentally prepares himself, before kicking the door in.

Pain was all the Courier felt, multiple bullets hit him in the chest, tearing into his armor and then his flesh. Hexem was waiting for him, a bozar setup on the bed with a bipod. Once the gun was empty, and the Courier was on the floor, Hexem ditched his bozar and jumped out the window onto the fire escape. He got out of an incursion with the Courier for a second time. That was the least of the Couriers worries, as he takes a super stimpak and tears off his ballistic vest. "I'll track him down, he won't get far on foot." The Courier says seemingly to no one.

* * *

His car, he needed to get back to his car. As far as he remembered it he left it locked in a garage on the outskirts of freeside, he needed to get there, he could drive to the place he stockpiled the rest of his things. He had to ditch most of his gear to make it to New Vegas, he was a bit low on microfusion cells. He left his gear in a locked shack, a little bit west of Nipton. From what he heard Nipton was essentially no longer a place, so he didn't need to worry about being stopped there. Being stopped here was another story, he had slowed down from running in order to preserve his energy. He may have just outran a younger man, but he was far from his prime, he knew that he wouldn't be able to beat the Courier in a fair fight.

A group of thugs, waiting for someone to round the corner, a problem he had to deal with.

"Hey old man, are you lost?" God, when he fought raiders forty years ago they still had the same shitty lines, aren't people supposed to learn more over time?

"No, I know exactly where I'm going. Now either I'll be on my way." he didn't want to deal with this now, he was a bit rusty. Afterall he hadn't killed anyone in at least a year.

"You know where you're going? Mind if I cut in?" Oh god, that was so horrible. His lines got worse, he didn't even link his phrases together well. Hexem would make sure to put him out of his misery, and do it before he drew the knife he was going for. Before the mugger could draw his knife he was dead, a laser boiled his brains until his head exploded. Hexem shot him with his solar scorcher, clean and done. The mugger to his left suffered the same fate, another dead man, dead before the first hit the ground. The last mugger drawing a gun, instead of being frozen in fear like Hexem expected. A bullet is fired in Hexem's direction, jumping to the side and shooting his solar scorcher into the last muggers groin. The shock and pain killing the man, and the bullet whizzing by his head.

"I guess they do learn, he was smart enough to draw a gun." His last feeling of the glory days rushing through him before he realized that the Courier would still be coming for him. He needed to get to his car, get his gear, and get the hell out of New Vegas. He would take the long 15, head back to California.

* * *

"I need a new vest Mick." His bare chest exposed with some new scars made from the stimpak. Mick looking at the Courier, and the destroyed vest.

"What did that?" Mick goes into his special armory to get out the desired vest for his favorite customer. He knew that it was a prewar vest, very high grade and capable of taking a .50 BMG without penetrating.

"This." Placing down the bozar on the counter, Mick's face lit up when he saw it.

"That's a bozar, haven't seen one of those in awhile. Capable of shredding through armor with sniper like precision. The ultimate machine gun. Where did you get it?" Placing the armor on the table.

"One of my bounties left it behind after he unloaded a clip into me." Mick's face looked shocked.

"You're lucky to have survived, I've read pre-war reports that this baby was capable of tearing through power armor, not your average pea shooter."

"Thanks Mick, what'll the armor cost me?" Mick pondered for a moment.

"You think this bounty you're chasing has more weapons like this?" The Courier nodded, if the three dead bodies were anything to indicate this man didn't have your average wastelanders weapons. "If you let me have some of the gear he's got, it's free."

"You got it Mick, I'll be back with his loot." A grunt of confirmation heard, as Mick was daydreaming of the stuff this guy had. To leave a gun like the bozar behind meant he had to have something else waiting for him.

The Courier proceeded to walk out of Freeside, following the directions of the people nearby who had seen him leave. Walking past one of the houses on the outskirts of Freeside, paying no heed to it. That is until the garage door opens, and an old highwayman rolls out, and right in the driver's seat was his target. Hexem seeming to notice the Courier slammed his foot on the pedal, the car speeding towards the Courier. The Courier rolled out of the way of the car, and got back up. He drew a marksman carbine, taking some shots at the car. Obviously he didn't do enough damage, as it was able to drive away towards the south down the road. Walking down the road he stops as he sees something on the ground. Putting his hand towards the fluid only to retract it due to the heat. Coolant, the car was leaking coolant. The Courier grinned and began to follow the liquid trail.

* * *

Freedom, driving down the road, this was what his youth was like. Except there was a bigger sense of urgency and companionship back then. He remembered the old days it wasn't that long ago. John sitting shotgun, in the back sitting Vic, Dogmeat, Marcus, and Goris. God only knows how he managed to fit them in the back, but he did. Sadly they left after the Enclave was destroyed, he never did know what happened to either of them. As he drives he begins to reminisce of better days.

"Hey John, look what I got working." John still looking out the window as scenery of decimated wasteland keeps passing by.

"Is it the AC, can we finally go a mile without roasting to death?" The crew all laughs.

"No, I got the holotape player working on my Pip-boy,now we can record some holotapes of our own. Now we can get something for the history books, we'll be legends, everyone will know our names."

"Really then, why don't you pop in a tape, let's record something." John says, he is then mirrored by Vic.

"I'm down, I want to go down in history as a hero, so let's set this straight for the record. I, Vic, was the one who single handedly took down the Enclave." Hexem could only laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You should stop flattering yourself, especially since we haven't started recording yet idiot." Goris states this fact, to Vic's despair. The whole gang had a good laugh at that, with even a couple of barks from Dogmeat.

Snapped out of his thoughts when he smells something burning, and when he pays attention to the road in front of him slams down on the breaks. The hood was glowing red hot, even though the car didn't stop completely he jumped out and rolled. Landing and rolling a few feet, and looking out to his highwayman only to see it detonate. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuckin' brahmin shit!" Breaking down into sobs as his car was nothing more than a hunk of twisted molten steel. Checking his Pip-boy 200 and seeing he only had about a half mile to make it to the shack, and then a mile after that to get to the long 15, he gets hopeful. Maybe he could catch a caravan to get back to California before the Courier could catch up.

Walking down the road, wearing the same leather jacket and jeans as before, but covered in dirt from the roll he took. Mumbling to himself the whole way, to any casual observer he looks like nothing more than a rambling old man. The would never know that old man is the very reason they are alive today.

His walking comes to a stop as he sees the shack up ahead, it doesn't look like anyone made it inside, as it should be, his locksmithing skills were extraordinary. Pulling out a bobby pin from his pocket he picked the lock gaining entrance to a stockpile of weapons and armaments that would make anyone who stumbled into it a god amongst men. He began to pack for a long haul, that's what this would turn into if no caravans were present.

The shack was just as he remembered, sitting in the corner was his vault suit, which he donned instead of his leather jacket, and over the suit he wore his bridgekeeper robes. What an odd fellow that bridgekeeper was. He took a backpack and began to stuff weapons into it. A gauss rifle, a pulse rifle, a turbo plasma rifle, a tommy gun, and his pancor jackhammer. He already had his solar scorcher in his pocket, so wasting ammunition against softer targets wasn't something he had to worry about. He looked over the room again, a bit disappointed he couldn't take the Enclave power armor due to weight, although he did grab a few personal items. Pictures of all the crew, all of them not just the five he drove around with, a group photo of them all with Father Tully after having defeated the Enclave, and some holotapes. He decided it best to leave the hint book behind, he didn't want to even know how that goddamned thing worked, but damned if he knew he wanted it earlier in his quest.

Right before he left the shack he dropped a holotape, labeled on it with pen were the words, "That Bad Luck Dog, with voice of John Cassidy." Hexem smiled, remembering all the good times he used to have, and the feeling of a curse being lifted after he blew that dogs fucking head off.

* * *

Walking into the bar of the outpost, wanting to grab a couple bottles of whiskey before he walked down the long 15. No caravans were available for him to take, so he needed a couple bottles for his journey, and then he would be in California, where he could go anywhere, and the Courier would never find him. Getting his first bottle of whiskey. "Here's to you, John." Taking a hearty swig for his dead comrade.

"Hey, old timer, drowning out bad memories." The man turns to see a lady downing a bottle of whiskey. The way she does it reminds him of an old friend.

"You could say that, one minute you're gambling, the next a man is trying to kill you." She raises an eyebrow at that comment.

"Oh really? And what might that have done to lead you here." A flirtatious tone hinted only slightly. An amateur in Hexem's eyes, his silver tongue could convince anyone to do anything. Unlike this girl, trying to con some information out of him.

"I'm heading back to California." She wanted more out of that answer, she wasn't satisfied with that.

"Why, got a family back there or something?"

"No, I'm going to run to where the gunman will never find me." She looked disappointed in him, in another way an old friend of his did. She couldn't be, could she?

"You shouldn't run from your problems. Especially at your age. What more do you have to look towards, go deal with your problem. If you do it before my friend gets here, how about you tell me about it. My friend taught me that, never run from your problems." He nodded, she had a point. Plus it didn't help that all he saw when she spoke was John. He decided to do what she said, if he did fail, he hoped the gang would be back together in another place, and if he didn't he could tell her about what she reminded him of.

"Alright, I'll do it. You know, you remind me of an old friend. If I don't make it back I'll be with him soon." She was interested in what he said, usually people said she was like no one else she ever met.

"Who might I remind you of?" Hoping to get an answer, to hear what this old man had to say.

"I'll tell you when I get back, don't want to get a connection to someone if i might be dead soon." He walked out of the bar, walked back to his shack, if he was to stand a chance against the Courier, he needed all his best gear.

* * *

The Courier followed the trail of coolant, followed it like a hound. Walking down the road at the dead of night. Remembering what it was like to travel down this road for the first time to Vegas. He wasn't that far from the Mojave Outpost, maybe a mile and a half at most. That is when he sees what he was waiting for. The twisted hunk of metal that was the highwayman, it's reactor obviously detonating due to lack of cooling. Now all he had to do was find a new way to track that old man, and he would have him. Fortunately for him the old man found him, unfortunately he came picking for a fight.

A shot from a gauss rifle rippled through the air, the sound of the cartridge whizzing by the Courier's body felt, and as he looked down, saw a hole in his duster. Finally, the old man came out to fight, time to serve him what he deserved for his past crimes. Pulling out the bozar he gained from their last encounter and flicking off the safety, if what Mick said was to be believed, which often was, the old man stood no chance even in his… Enclave power armor? Where'd he get that? The Courier didn't get a chance to think more, as another gauss rifle shot whizzed by, but this one passed by his head. He raised his gun and fired. A small burst leaving his bozars low magazine capacity.

The bozars bullets bounced off his armor, but they left dents. Hexem managed to get out of the way after the first three, and they were really sizeable dents, but that was to be expected from the weapon that killed Frank Horrigan in fifteen bullets. Although he didn't want to do it, he was forced to put a bullet into the bozars receiver. Rolling out from the rock that had protected him from the torrent of bullets, Hexem shot at the bozar with his gauss rifle, crippling it without serious repairs.

"Dammit!" The Courier droppen the bozar on the ground, he would come back for it once he won this fight, and he would fix it. He began to try to close the distance between him and Hexem. This was going to make this mark much harder, he had high grade armor and weapons. No wonder that man was willing to pay him so much to get the job done. Charging towards Hexem only to jump out of the way when he heard beeping. Landmines, and where he landed started beeping. This was bad, but only made worse by the fact that Hexem had pulled out a minigun, and began to fire upon him as well. Quickly moving to the best of his ability Six ran behind a rock, only to see a mine at his feet. Grabbing it and throwing it as far as he could like a frisbee, only to watch it blow up in the distance. He was only going to sit here long enough to take a breather, until he experiences a sharp pain in his foot, only to see a spear sticking out of it. The old man managed to hit a spear into his foot from more than fifty yards away, and from the sting he was getting, it must be poisoned. Popping an anti-venom, and taking a stimpak before yanking the spear out of his foot, making sure all of him was covered by the rock this time. Starting to think of a plan of attack, until a grenade with a cross on it rolls past the rock. With lightning quick reflexes the Courier throws it, only for it to detonate into a fat man sized explosion, forcing him against the rock. "This fucker has got holy hand grenades too! Fuck!" He had to push in. Now.

With his battle rifle, loaded with armor piercing by his side he rounded the rock, only to see Hexem with a minigun aimed his way, quickly putting bullets into the feeding belt from his backpack. After a short burst, with some of the bullets hitting the Couriers ballistic vest, thankfully doing next to no damage due to the ballistic vest absorbing the small bullets. Walking towards Hexem, firing his rifle, and kicking a landmine out of the way, dead set on ending this battle now. What wasn't accounted for was for Hexem to pull out a fast firing plasma rifle and start firing at him. Bolts of plasma landing around him, turning the Mojave sand into glass on impact, knowing full well a single one of those bolts would end him, he ran to find more cover as soon as possible. Luckily he found some, and even more luckily there wasn't a mine by this one. Running behind large rock in order to not get immediately vaporized by a plasma bolt. Seemingly having to resort to heavier measures. He didn't want to use his anti-material rifle, due to the high cost of ammunition, but he had to. Loading an armor piercing slug into it, and chambering the round, he had once shot to kill him before he ran.

This was pretty easy all things considered, the Courier didn't have high enough levels of firepower to bring him down. Guess he didn't need to run to his secondary position inside the nearby gas station. His guesses were proven wrong, and a bullet punched through his armor and into his chest. "Motherfuckers got a fifty." He can't out range that, he'd need to run. Hexem turned around and ran back to the gas station, but it looked like his ten luck stat was giving him some poor favor today, and a bullet hit his power armor in the right spot. If he didn't get out, it would go full nuclear. Having no choice but to bail, he did, nearly taking a fifty caliber bullet to the back, and his purple robes wouldn't save him, especially if his power armor didn't.

So the Courier pushed onto Hexem, his marksman rifle out now, trying to hit him anywhere, but it turned out his robes were armored. His regular bullets just wouldn't go through it. He ran into a gas station, obviously this would be his last stand. Explosives weren't an option, he wanted all his gear intact. Pumping his shotgun and preparing to rush Hexem, that is until pellets from a jackhammer rain through the door. His vest absorbing all the pellets, none of them penetrating, and it was obvious from the sounds inside that he had no shells left. Pushing his advantage putting a shell into Hexem, his robe absorbing the pellet as well.

Hexem had two choices, die to the shotgun, or try to punch it from the Courier's hands. Due to many more years of experience, and his boxing career, he managed to do it. The Courier shoved him to the ground, pulling out his revolver and aiming it at Hexem's head. "Game over, any last words?"

"Fuck You." Hexem spat on the Courier's boot. Underneath his helmet, the Courier smiled, his most rewarding kill. Pulling the trigger, only to hear a click, looking at his revolver, he had a misfire. "Lady Luck shines through." Jumping from the floor and punching the revolver from the Courier's hand, bringing the two into a bloody brawl.

Hexem punches the Courier under the jaw, his head recoiling back from the hit. The Courier did not expect a punch of that strength from the old man. Punching him back in the face, a crack is heard as the old man's nose breaks. Grabbing an empty Nuka-Cola bottle, hexem hits the Courier over the head, smashing the bottle, giving Hexem a makeshift shank. Putting the Courier against the wall, and trying to stab him in the stomach, the only thing preventing this being the Courier resisting it. Hexem getting headbutted in the face, groaning in pain.

The two continue on for five more minutes, trading blow after blow. If anything, the Courier is on bottom, but not for long. Pulling a .45 pistol from his boot, and shooting Hexem in the chest. Instead of his robe absorbing the impact, it's armor was weakened due to the previous buckshot shell, it ripped right through. Hexem falling to the floor gripping his bullet hole, to try to stop the blood flow.

"Now this is it, any last words?" He was right, Hexem's luck has ran out, seeing no way out of this situation, even if he tried to fight back, the bullet wound would surely kill him. Not only that he ran out of stimpaks a little while ago.

"Yeah, there was this girl in the Mojave outpost. Cowboy hat, downs bottles of whiskey like a pro. I had a short talk with her, and a feeling. I hope I'm right, but I usually am. Give this to her." The Courier shot Hexem through the head, killing the old man. And grabbing what he wanted to give to Cass. The planned to meet up at the Mojave outpost, he just wanted to do one more job before hand.

Looking at what he was given, a pile of photos and a holotape. What he saw on the photos made him stop for a second. It looked like a group of people, and a super mutant who looked awfully a lot like Marcus. If that was Marcus, does that mean he had just killed? No, it couldn't have been. Not wanting to believe it he began to loot the body, letting who he just killed sink in.

* * *

"Hey Cass." Walking over and taking a seat down next to the girl.

"Hey Six, how have you been?" Six took off his helmet, his rugged unshaven face to the girl.

"I need to talk to you about something serious. You remember an old man that came through here earlier?" She nodded, not liking where this was going. "He wanted you to have this." He handed her the holotape, and photo. Labeled at the bottom corner of the photo claimed the two were Hexem, and John Cassidy. The label on the tape being slightly burned leaving it illegible."You want me to play it?" Cass nodded.

Popping the tape in, the audio began to play. "I'm probably not going to survive this encounter with the Courier, If I do you won't hear this tape. This is the last surviving holotape I have with John Cassidy's voice on it. It's about this horrible dog that followed us and gave us misfortune. I'm hoping this is the person I think it is, if not this won't mean anything to you." A short pause before the original recording begins to play.

"Hey, John, another recording for the history books. This one is going to be slightly less serious. Remember the bad luck dog?"

"You mean that stupid fucking dog that followed us? That fucking mongrel?

"Yep, that one. Remember when you were going to hit that slaver with a bat, and one of my bullets bounced and destroyed it?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm so glad you took it out back and shot it. You were the only one eligible to do it. Vic's gun blew up on him when he tried, needed an autodoc to make it better."

"Yeah." Laughing at the memory. "I actually had five misfires with my shotgun before the gun actually went off, and killed that damn dog."

"Amen to that."

"Yeah" The two men laugh, laughter is heard in the background, and well as the clinking of two bottles of whiskey. "Welp, A short one, but a good one. Thank you for listening future generations. This was Hexem from Arroyo." A pause is there as if waiting for John to speak.

"And John Cassidy, see you next time."

* * *

 **AN: So please leave a review with your thoughts. Like I said earlier, this is an homage to my favorite fallout game, with a small story about how even legends don't last forever in typical Fallout fashion. See you next time.**


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